Ten Steps Into the Heart of Darkness
by Shipperwolf
Summary: Because life is not a fairy tale, and a healing heart can shatter just as easily. Lokane, semi-dark.


**My friends,**

**I've not forgotten the Thor fandom! Life is trying to calm a bit for me now, and to celebrate I offer the beginnings of a fic that _Selenite_ had prompted many months ago. I will also try to update my unfinished works as my block clears up. **

**Again, I plead for you patience. And for your opinions! **

**Be warned: This fic is not intended to be of a happy theme. Drama, angst and general adulty stuffs are in the works! **

**I dislcaim Thor and Loki and everything that Marvel/Stan Lee/those other guys created. Not mine. Just playing with dolls.**

* * *

_They say the cold is unbearable. I can no longer tell._

* * *

She shivered again, pulling the cloak tighter around her shoulders and peering through the darkness at him with a patience only a mother could possess.

It is always dark in his realm. Always cold, always frozen. It is a desolate world of nothing, bound in ice and snow, the skies above never clear, the warmth of the sun forever denied to those living below.

This realm, this world that he rules with a half-heart and no true passion, is his only due to the _mercy_ of those who raised him.

Their mercy and their caution. _Paranoia…._

Loki Laufeyson waved a hand at his visitor, gesturing her closer. He had finally found a spot in the citadel, hidden away from the roaming monsters that called themselves his servants and guards, and he wished not to move from it. He stilled his hand mid-wave, stopping to look at the dry, ashen-blue of his skin. His knuckles appeared thick and weather-worn, the veins bulging slightly and standing out black- almost sickly.

He followed the ugly lines up his wrist, his arm, all the way to his bare chest, covered in a thin sheet of frost and lacking the thick armor of ice that the others insisted on bearing at all times.

Loki snorted slightly, disgusted with them. Disgusted with himself.

Months living as the King of Jotunheim, and he had naturally adapted to his home-world far easier than any would have predicted.

He was just as much a monster as the rest of them.

He met Frigga's gaze as she approached the dark corner he sat huddled in, the warmth in her eyes muddied with concern; he had seen that look many a time in his life, often when he had gotten himself hurt, or mocked, or a combination of the two.

A mother's worry.

And pity.

His lips stung as sharpened teeth dug into them.

"What brings you here, Frigga? Jotunheim is no place for the Queen of the Realm Eternal." Loki spat at her with words, instantly regretting the tone, but nonetheless frustrated.

He did not _want_ her pity. It was _her_ husband, his so-called "father" that chose this fate for him, condemning him in the most literal sense for all of his 'wrongdoings'. He recalled the Allfather's stoic eyes as judgment was passed down following his attempts to conquer the world of the mortals. It had been Thor—the fool- that had advocated mercy on his behalf despite everything the brothers had gone through. Loki had openly attempted to _kill_ him, and still the Thunderer spoke of mercy and 'rehabilitation'.

Loki watched Frigga shiver again, her breaths visible in the frigid, dead air.

_This_ was the rehabilitation Odin chose for him. The Allfather had placed him in state of controlled power over the realm of his birth, ruling as king over the very creatures he had not long ago sought to destroy. The Casket, of course, remained in Asgaard, effectively preventing Loki from doing much of anything to restore some semblance of life or glory to the dark and dying realm. Odin had condemned him, even as the old golden king claimed to love him as a father would a son. He was condemned—_damned_- and he had come to accept this.

His red eyes often intimidated any visitors to his realm, deterring them from meeting his horrid gaze for too long.

But not Frigga. She held his orbs in hers with a gentleness that made him come dangerously close to missing her.

"I have come to give you news, son." He knew better than to ask her not to call him such, however meaningless the term seemed to him now….

"Your brother has left Earth in the hands of his friends, now. He has come home to claim the throne."

Loki grit his teeth against a curse at these "friends" of Thor's. The _Avengers,_ they called themselves now. When they had rallied with his brother against him, they were nameless and without true direction. Apparently they had found both, and Thor saw fit to leave his precious Earth to its devices.

He drew a breath, shallow and numb.

"Well, I am certain Thor will do well by Asgaard…_this_ time." He could not help but allow the disdain to drip from his words, however real Thor's attempts to mend their brotherhood had been since his banishment (for truly, that is what this was) to Jotunheim. The Prince had often come on the darkest of days, offering a smile and hopes for conversation.

Loki had humored him, for the sake of some company that did not tower over him and grumble in response to his every question or command. And he would admit to holding _some_ newly restored love for his 'brother', but it was very often overshadowed by bitterness; Thor was allowed to _leave_ the wretched world of ice when he so pleased.

Loki was not.

Frigga smiled at him. He could not bring himself to return the gesture.

"He will also be marrying soon. The mortal woman, Jane Foster, has been brought to Asgaard. It took some discussion between your father and brother, but it has come to pass. She will marry Thor. And she will be Queen of Asgaard. Odin has agreed to give her prolonged youth so she may do so. I fear, however, that it may result in another long Sleep…." Frigga trailed, her smile faltering only enough for Loki to notice it.

She seemed eager to see this little mortal marry her son, to see the girl take her position and responsibilities and be freed herself from the pressures of the royal court.

And of course, surely, she would hope for the beauty of grandchildren, spawned from a strong arm and a pretty face…..

Loki peered into the ice-covered wall beside him, his reflection a manifestation of his true nature. Red eyes met their parallels and narrowed.

Thor would be King of the Great Realm, basked in warmth and sunlight and joy. He would have the gentle hand of a human woman on his arm as he roamed the streets in comfort and contentment.

Of course he would. Thor saved lives. He deserved warmth and happiness.

Loki leaned his forehead against the ice, staring in silence at his smiling mother.

He had forgotten what warmth felt like.


End file.
